


The Fourth Wall

by RansomNotes



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Language & Innuendo, Angst and Humor, Identity Porn, M/M, Wade Wilson's Inappropriate Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29603250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RansomNotes/pseuds/RansomNotes
Summary: Between college and his side jobs and his alter-ego, Peter barely has the time to sleep at his new apartment, let alone spend any time hanging out there, which works out since it’s cheap and empty and depressing, now that he and Ned aren’t roommates on-campus anymore. So hearing his rude loudmouth neighbor through the wall all the time shouldn’t matter much, except it’s classic Parker to somehow make friends with the crazy guy next door, to the point he’s actually sad to leave his crummy apartment.But Peter seems to have a real penchant for bad company, since he’s spending all his free time with someone he’s never seen, only heard through the wall, and spending most of his patrolling time with someone else crazy, since Deadpool showed up recently and somehow monopolized his time as Spider-Man.It’s probably just a phase. Everybody goes through a fall-catastrophically-hard-for-separate-but-unavailable-people phase, right?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 227
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2020 Collection





	The Fourth Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the SpideyPool Big Bang mods, and to my collaborators! It's been a rough decade of months, this past year, hasn't it? I'm especially grateful to have fanfiction and fandom in my life, helping me cope with *gestures vaguely* everything.  
> Thanks to [ thelazyartist,](thelazydrawer.tumblr.com) my pinch hitter artist, who swooped in at the last minute and has been super nice to work with, thank you!  
> And thanks to [ImpalaLove,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalalove) my beta, who was so helpful in refining ideas and scenes, made some hilarious suggestions, and was very encouraging along the way.  
> Come visit me on tumblr at [RansomNoteworthy;](ransomnoteworthy.tumblr.com) there's no theme at all, but maybe you'll like the clutter!

__

_*LOUD MUSIC BLARING*_

The cereal box dropped from his hands, and even caught by his webs before impact with the floor, a handful of Cheerios bounced out and skittered across the dingy linoleum.

“Fantastic. 6:30 in the morning is a great time to blast some tunes,” Peter muttered as he slumped at his rickety table in his junky apartment, glaring balefully at the shared wall which was practically vibrating from the impossibly loud music blasting behind it.

Peter had only moved in a few weeks ago, and between his real job, and his side job, and his masked job, oh and of course college itself, he felt like he hadn’t spent more than a handful of hours in the apartment. But today he’d intended to sleep in and recuperate, only to wake up, disoriented and grumpy, at all the bassline thumping and random cursing coming from the apartment next door. After giving up on sleeping in, he’d stumbled to the cramped kitchen area when the sudden extreme noise from the next song starting up jolted him more awake.

He hadn’t met any of his neighbors yet, really, except for Mrs. Leibowitz on the first floor who’d clucked at “what a handsome young man he was, but so skinny!” every single time he crossed paths with her, after their first meeting where she'd gossiped eagerly about how long his apartment had been vacant before him. But so far his next door neighbor was his very least favorite. It sounded like a group of guys originally, from the clatter and sheer volume, and all the loud comments and laughter, but he only ever heard one voice, aside from the ongoing tv mumbling, so he had to conclude it was one person. One deeply dysfunctional person unsuited to living in shared accommodations with fellow humans, judging just by the volume level from next door. 

The song changed again, and he could hear his neighbor screeching along. Peter rested his head in his hands, exhausted, and resisted the urge to scream. As the bass dropped, Peter jerked his head up, shocked, because--was that a gunshot?? In time with the music?? 

Kicking against the table to bang against the wall, he shouted, “Hey! Can you turn it down over there?! You don’t live here alone, you know!”

The music cut out, almost immediately, with a scattering of curse words. God, this apartment was crappy. He could hear practically every muttered syllable through the wall. This whole building was so dysfunctional; it seemed like the floors and ceilings were pretty good about cutting ambient neighborly noises, but the walls were so thin, comparatively, he probably wouldn’t even need his enhanced strength to punch straight through into the other unit. Certainly sounded as if there were only room dividers or sheets between them, rather than actual construction materials.

He huffed and awkwardly leaned back in his chair to just reach the fridge door without having to get up and-- great, out of milk anyway.

Peter sighed and gave up on breakfast, and gave up on the entire morning, actually. Slamming the front door resentfully hard, after he’d dressed and gathered everything he needed for his research and studies, he walked down the hall and wished he could send death rays through his neighbor’s banged up door. He had plenty to keep him busy with during the day, and he’d have patrol tonight too. With any luck, his neighbor would be asleep or away by the time he got home, so he could finally get some sleep.  
  


***  
  


Shaking off the adrenaline from the last fight, Peter debated skipping the rest of patrol and heading home early. He was still exhausted, and Deadpool wasn’t around today, so he may as well. 

Deadpool had showed up during his patrols one night, several months ago, and somehow hadn't stopped popping up, with increasing frequency as time went on. They'd spent at least as much time yelling at each other as fighting together at first, but Deadpool was getting better at following Peter’s strict ‘no death or dismemberment’ policy. And, honestly, Peter almost had to remember _not_ to like Deadpool, cause the mercenary was relentlessly friendly. He was funny, and helpful, and he wore that suit like he was doing it a favor, and maybe it was a cliche to have a competence kink, but Peter absolutely did, and the one thing no one contested about Deadpool was that he was very good at his morally ambiguous job. 

But he was brash and dangerous, and Peter had tried to stay aloof, but it was a losing battle.

It definitely seemed like a bad sign, though, that Peter had gotten to the point of _hoping_ to see Deadpool each patrol, and feeling disappointed when he didn’t show. 

Spider-Man didn’t need a side-kick, not that it was any better when Deadpool joked about being his side-chick, but...Deadpool was fun, and Peter had enough frustrations in his life, lately, he should take every chance he got for friendship, as unlooked for as it may be.

He’d still be keeping this new friendship as much of a secret from Stark as he could manage though. Optimism about a new friend was one thing, but inviting Iron Man’s scrutiny...that was another thing entirely. As it was, he’d gotten Ned thoroughly distracted watching a Lego build video before mentioning it, and even that had only bought him a week or two of silence before Ned remembered and realized what Peter had said, and harassed him about his bad life choices until his girlfriend had come over and Peter had happily shifted the conversation somewhere less fraught, like whether the next Star Wars films would retcon any of the newer storylines. There’d been plenty of yelling about that, too, but Peter still went to bed smiling.  
  


***  
  


He’d been living at the new apartment for a month or two by now, adjusting to his new schedule and routine. Peter rolled his neck and turned the page of his chemistry textbook. He'd planned to camp out at the university library for hours after class, as usual, but it was closed for renovations or something, he hadn’t been listening.

He’d sighed when he heard the announcement, and immediately ignored the rest of the bulletin, trying to decide on his best bet for studying locations the rest of the week. His apartment was a terrible choice, both for its lack of space and lighting, and the real surplus of distractions, but it would just have to work. He didn’t have anywhere else convenient to go.

MJ was spending some of the summer with her cousins at their hometown, she’d originally said, which now included a few random weekend trips away too, apparently, judging from the confusing texts and pics she sent haphazardly and never with any context. They’d broken up for the last time in the spring semester, and Peter was just glad they were actually staying friends, so far. And Ned had just started a new and overwhelmingly busy computer programming job, and for once it wasn't Peter cancelling plans and leaving texts on read. He missed his friends. With all their busy schedules, he rarely got to see them anyway, so it was silly, maybe, to be missing them so much more lately. He would only see them slightly less than usual, but something about moving neighborhoods and apartments made the absences all the more obvious. Everything he unpacked reminded him of them and ties to them, and honestly, he probably needed more friends if he was going to be this mopey, thinking of Ned’s scrunched up face every time he saw this table he’d rescued from the curb, that Ned had politely suggested was not worth the effort but had nevertheless helped him haul upstairs.

Once he'd finally focused enough to dig deep into his work, he'd zoned out entirely, lost in equations and theory, when Ned yelled from the other room to ask if it should be taco night again. He’d absentmindedly yelled back _yes, sounds great!_ and squinted at his notes, trying to figure out what he was missing with his homework.

“Yeah, Taco Tuesday!" 

"It's Wednesday, but sure." He recapped the highlighter. 

"You want some tacos, if I order them?" 

"Yes, I already said yes. I'll pay you back next time, k?" 

"Next time??" 

"Sure, Sunday or something. I've got lab tomorrow.”

He finally found the passage he was looking for, and popped a bookmark into the book. So if he’d understood, then the formula from lecture needed to be used with the calculating technique from page 312, and, okay, it had taken him longer to focus here at home, but he was making progress now. He steadily worked through half the week's sets before he heard a muffled knock on the door, and blinked a second before realizing it must have been next door. These thin walls…

He stretched up tall, looking forward to the tacos that Ned had ordered... except...Ned wasn't here. Oh my God. Had he dreamed that entire exchange?? Aunt May always said he was working too hard lately, the few times he actually made it back to see her these days, sleep-deprived and stressed out. 

He heard another knock, clearly on his door this time, startling him from his spiraling thoughts. He sat in confused silence for a second, before finally scrambling up and moving all the notes from his lap, to get up and check the door. There was a bag of tacos at his doorstep, the packaging featureless and blank, but the scent was instantly wonderfully descriptive. He looked at the neighbor's door for a moment, confused. 

So when 'Ned' had yelled about Taco Night, it was just his kooky loud-mouth neighbor talking to himself, AND PETER HAD ANSWERED, and his neighbor had apparently just rolled with it. 

Back in his seat at the table, books haphazardly closed on all his papers and notes, and shoved out of the way to make room for the unexpected feast, he studied the greasy yellow-wrapped tacos for a moment. He tried to replay the conversation in his mind, and he was pretty sure he’d just invited himself to someone else’s delivery order, someone who had been talking to themselves at the time. This would make for a hilarious story to tell to-- no-one, actually, until he saw how badly this all turned out, the next time he saw or talked to the next door neighbor. 

There were at least 10 tacos here, and his mouth was watering, already. Man, they looked incredible, overstuffed with fixings, including mashed potatoes, of all things, and not recognizable to him from any of the local Mexican food places. He wolfed down 3 of them immediately, surprised at how delicious the mashed potatoes were, and realized he hadn’t said anything yet to his neighbor, who he could lightly hear through the wall, humming and probably eating still as well. He swallowed another huge bite and debated not saying anything.

After all, it was absurd he’d answered in the first place, and absurd that Loudmouth had just gone along with it, wasn't it? Nice, though, right, nicer than if his neighbor had made fun of the nitwit next door who answered private and rhetorical questions? Nice, too, that, now that he thought about it, his neighbor hadn’t been nearly as loud and disruptive lately… Easy to miss when he wasn’t being actively reminded by noise or interruptions, but maybe--maybe Loudmouth hadn’t realized how much could be heard through the walls here. From what he’d heard, it sounded like the apartment might have been vacant for awhile before Peter moved in, so it was possible Peter had overreacted a bit during that one especially obnoxious morning. 

He chewed and wrestled with his thoughts a bit more, and finally decided that it was a kind gesture, and much appreciated, bizarre as the circumstances were, and Loudmouth certainly seemed to be making attempts to be friendly. He cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Thanks for the tacos! They're delicious!" 

He heard a chair next door scrape on the floor a little, maybe in surprise, or turning to face the wall in between them. He thought he heard some indecipherable muttering, and then, "Hey, yeah, sure, Rosalita's got some great tacos." 

Peter stared at the next taco in his hand, and tried to keep the conversation going. It was only polite, right? "Rosalitas, oh, I haven't tried these before, I don't think.” 

"Oh, yeah, I helped Rosa and her family with a legal thing awhile back, and now they hook me up with all the tacos I can eat." 

"Oh, a legal thing? Are you a lawyer?" Peter thought he heard a quiet laugh. 

"Ah, no, not exactly. Could maybe say I'm a part of the justice system.”

Before Peter could follow up on that, the other man continued, "But how ‘bout you? Let me guess, you’re a voice model." 

Peter laughed, "What does that even mean? Like a voice actor? But anyway, no, I'm a college student, Biochem major." 

"It means your voice is real pretty, that's all, and damn, brilliant, too?!" Peter blushed, flustered, especially since it made him realize he thought his neighbor's voice was attractive as well, or... perhaps it was the obvious smile in every word. And there was something about the anonymity, here, through the walls, that appealed to him, both more and less fragile than the kind of anonymity behind the mask. Here he could actually someday see his neighbor face to face, the sort of hopeful possibility his superhero secret didn't afford, and all for infinitely lower stakes.

He looked at the taco again, and then the shared wall, and took a chance. "Takes one to know one, I guess. And by the way, my name is Peter." 

He wiped his hands on the flimsy white napkins and tried not to hold his breath listening. So he was less than adept at flirting, but even so he hoped that might be clear enough an invitation to keep talking.

“Well, nice to meet you, Peter. I'm Wade. I like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain, but instead make that Mexican food and getting caught up too late binging Netflix, ‘cause who actually likes getting caught in the rain anyway?”

“Right? It’s how half the characters in Brit Lit novels die, isn't it? Weird dating detail." 

“‘Zactly, you get it, like asking for dinner from a hospital cafeteria in your Grindr profile, it’s very sus.”

Peter laughed, charmed already, and reassured by that Grindr reference. So the funny stranger might hypothetically be interested. Wade was charming. Loud and a little rude at first, yes, but unexpected and funny, as well. And accommodating of awkward neighbors, and here he’d technically already bought Peter dinner. This was already the most successful date Peter had managed in months, appalling as that realization was.

“They're actually together already, in that song, did you know? The couple in the song got bored with each other and placed dating ads, and wound up meeting with each other after all that, accidentally.”

“So you're saying they should've just stayed at home, huh? Looked for the one right next to them... or right next door to them, maybe?" 

Peter smiled. This was exactly the sort of random chance that turned into romantic meet-cute stories in pop culture, and exactly where his luck would usually mean this should've turned into an awkward misunderstanding already, but instead, he felt hopeful. And also pleasantly full of delicious tacos.

They hadn’t talked much longer before he'd had to regretfully say goodnight and leave for study group, with only the briefest longing glance at Loudm- Wade's door as he went.   
  


***  
  


Normally, he felt only fatigue drawing him home, but all day the next day, he chafed at all the classes and demands on his time when he could be... well, there wasn't anything concrete to suggest they'd keep talking. Especially since Peter had only answered by accident in the first place, to the rhetorical meal question. Wade had responded very positively, all told, but maybe that was it. 

Peter studied the chipped edge of his desk, mind drifting from the lecture. This would be an especially ridiculous Missed Connections ad to post: "You were the deep voice placing a phone order for tacos, and I was the clueless co-ed inviting himself to your meal. I know exactly where you live, because it's right next to me, but I did already mention I'm basically clueless, so if you're attracted to socially awkward nerds with surprising abs and dark secrets, come on over.” 

But maybe he could start another conversation tonight, when and if he ever got home, because it felt like time might actually slow to a stop in this class. He'd have to come up with some opening line, something funny, hopefully, to start up a new conversation with Wade. 

By the time he’d finished up with his own class work, and some extra TA tasks, he realized he’d have to go straight to patrol tonight, without a pit stop home. He didn’t have a good hook yet, anyway, for talking to Wade, and maybe patrol would be inspirational. It was easy to chatter away as Spider-Man, after all, usually. And maybe he’d see Deadpool, which was always amusing and distracting.   
  


***  
  


Spidey-sense jangling mildly like it did for falling food rather than death threats, Peter straightened up from webbing up a pair of muggers and looked around perplexed. That sort of alert usually meant he’d forgotten something or that he knew someone nearby or, well, hell-if-he-knew, it wasn’t much of a clear help when it came to less-than-lethal warnings.

Everything around him seemed calm, or at least, what passed for calm in the middle of a New York night. The man who had been robbed was still profusely thanking Peter, and now that Peter had stopped looking around enough to realize the man was expecting some sort of response, he asked him to repeat himself. When Peter processed the question, he stammered out something noncommittal and tried to leave as casually as he could, which was still in an abrupt web-slinging way, along with a rushed request that the man call the police and give a statement. And then he sat awkwardly on the edge of the next building, just out of sight. 

It never got less weird, getting asked out by the people he helped, like that guy--it was just so contradictory to his life experience as shy-and-nerdy-Peter, and so completely out of his thought process when he was focused on fighting and rescuing as Spider-Man. It always caught him off guard. Plus, now that he was single, and possibly interested in pursuing a man, finally, since he’d come to terms with his bisexuality, it rattled him every time now when a man asked him out, ‘in uniform,’ as he thought of it. Like, did he read gay or bi now, or were they just shooting their shot and it had nothing to do with him, or…? He didn’t remember getting asked out by men so often in the past, but it wouldn’t have even been an option back then, unaware and closeted as he’d been, and then perpetually in love with MJ even when they were technically broken up. He wasn’t even sure he’d noticed guys much before, when he’d been completely head over heels for MJ, but now that they were officially over, he’d found himself much more aware. Hell, he’d even noticed his neighbor having an attractive voice just last night.

But maybe it was just [Baader-Meinhof](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frequency_illusion#:~:text=Frequency%20illusion%2C%20also%20known%20as,a%20form%20of%20selection%20bias\).), imagined synchronicity, that now that he could hypothetically date a man he was suddenly noticing men noticing him… 

Realistically, he knew he was overthinking this, like everything else, but it wasn’t like he had any other kind of thinking available, really. 

Peter looked up and tracked the motion as Deadpool climbed the fire escape and landed on the opposite end of the roof, and Peter nodded at him and didn’t get up, waiting. Sure enough, Deadpool walked over and dropped down to sit next to him. Deadpool himself was proof enough that not every pick-up line from a guy sent Peter spiralling, but maybe it was the casual way Deadpool flirted with him and anyone else, from the first time they’d met, in such a laid-back way Peter wouldn’t have taken it seriously even if he hadn’t been hung up on MJ back then.

“So…” Deadpool said.

“So…?”

“So you’re not single, or you’re tragically straight?”

Peter had a moment of panic imagining that his thoughts were as transparent in the suit as in his real life, with his too-emotive face, and then shook his head in realization.  
 _That_ was what the Spidey-sense had been about, sensing Deadpool nearby but not in sight, when Peter had been finishing the fight and then ducking a come-on. 

“Eavesdropping and stalking," Peter shook his head, "and you didn’t even have the decency to help me with the muggers.”

“I ain't been dropping no eaves, sir, and you oughta know already that I’m the furthest thing from decent at the best of times.”

“True, and 3am isn’t a best or decent time. And you were probably unnatural long before you became an undead delight.”

Deadpool smirked at him. “You got it. But now I’m just wondering why you don’t got him,” flapping his hand back toward the crime scene. 

“Hey, if you want him, go and claim him.” Peter sat considering a moment, debating how honest he should be, and then said, “And…I _am_ single, and I’m not entirely straight.”

Deadpool nodded but looked confused.

Peter waited for the inevitable follow-up question, since neither of the offered pieces of information explained his disinterest in the guy, and finally sighed into the silence. 

“Just not interested in him, I don’t know. I’m bi, but I’m also--picky, I guess. I know you hit on basically everyone and their mother, sometimes literally, but surely even you have types, and definite no-go rules.”

“Can’t handle people who don’t appreciate the 5-second rule, or people who don’t use Oxford commas,” Deadpool answered immediately, and Peter choked on a laugh. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

Peter shook his head and stood up, eager to leave the conversation behind. “Well, Shirley, are you gonna quote movies at me all night or are you actually gonna help now?”

He jumped to swing to the next scuffle he could hear in the distance without waiting for an answer, knowing Deadpool would follow.

The next time they had a break between fights and rescues, Peter sprawled on the roof again, and kicked at Deadpool’s ankle when he sat down nearby. 

“You don’t actually care about Oxford commas, do you?” 

Tipping his head back to look at the pre-dawn sky, Deadpool chuckled. “Nah, but you’re tight with Stark, so I figure you got some of the same obsessions he does, and he can put you in an Oxford _coma_ ranting about it. I am serious about the 5 second rule though, that’s no joking matter, but I’ve listened to Stark enough to think _time_ is a theoretical construct anyway, and that _5 seconds_ is something that can actually be so personal.”

“So you’ll eat floor food at anytime, cause you’re actually 3 garbage-diving trash pandas in spandex. Got it.”

“Wow, calling me ‘garbage-diving’ just cause I’m into you, that’s harsh, you should really work on your self-esteem, Spidey!”

Peter laughed. It was bizarre being good friends with Deadpool, but it had happened so easily, with plenty of movie quotes, and somehow, it worked. Nice to have something easy in his life, for once, not that Deadpool himself could be described as easy to anyone else. Well… _easy_ in one sense, of course, because he really did seem almost completely indiscriminate in who he flirted with, but definitely not easy to manage. And difficult to manage was absolutely the meaning that Mr. Stark was referring to, once he found out Deadpool and Spider-Man had been working together, and when he’d started sending over endless emails of news stories of Deadpool and Spider-Man sightings. The news links and surveillance photos were usually accompanied by dire warnings and gifs of Mr. Stark’s face eye-rolling. 

It must be handy to be famous enough to have gifs readily available online of your own face. Then again--he’d love to _never_ deal with that from Ned, and honestly, he hadn’t considered what restraint Ned must be exercising to not endlessly send him Spider-Man gifs, because they were definitely out there. Not that he’d express any gratitude for that, though, on the off-chance Ned hadn’t realized that comedic potential yet, since it hadn’t occurred to Peter until just now. 

See, so there were plenty of other things to worry about instead of his sexuality, or if his paycheck deposited yet, or if Deadpool actually was a dangerous connection for Spider-Man. 

After all, if Deadpool did have any malevolent plans, they were buried so deep they didn’t alarm Peter’s Spidey-sense, and Deadpool didn’t really seem to have enough layers, actually, to be burying and concealing bad intentions. He certainly didn’t act like he had a filter, for that matter, since it sure seemed like every thought entered his mind and then immediately dove out his mouth. But it was nice to have a friendship that uncomplicated, admittedly in bizarre ways, but still. He’d take it. 

And he’d avoid Mr. Stark’s emails as much as he could in the meanwhile.  
  


***  
  


The door to the Thai place closed with a thunk and a jingle from the bells tied to the handle, and Peter pretended to consider the menu, even though he rarely changed his order. He’d be more adventurous if he had the funds to not mind replacing any entree he tried and hated, but as it was, he knew what he liked, and it already took more cash than he wanted to spend to feed his huge appetite, post-spider-bite. He reviewed the options and debated adding a Thai iced coffee, since it was a luxury, yeah, but wow it had been a long and confusing week. It was Sunday already, and he’d been distracted since Wednesday night tacos, at least partially from the whole elephant in the room, or rather, the elephant next door. 

He hadn’t been around his apartment much since then, but he’d spent an unreasonable amount of time trying and failing to come up with something to say. His neighbor wasn’t much quieter, day to day, but said nothing directly to Peter. Peter never would’ve intentionally interrupted and hijacked what he was saying, so he wasn’t sure the best way to find out if he wanted to talk again.

And, just spitballing here, but maybe it’d be better for the neighbor to strike up a conversation, if he wanted to get them talking, since it had been Peter’s embarrassing interruption in the first place that had triggered their conversation. Wouldn’t it be rude for Peter to force them to talk again? Even sleep-deprived and starving as he was, he knew he was deceiving himself. Ned always said it was weird for Peter to be so cowardly (alright, he wouldn’t say _cowardly,_ he’d say _shy,_ but they’d both know what he really meant) in his personal life when his alter ego was completely the opposite, but that was the thing: it was almost like he used up whatever charm and bravery he had while in the suit, and he was all the more meek in his real life.

He leaned against the wall, blinking at the faded menu and thought about his whole taco conversation again with Wade, and suddenly straightened up. He’d...he’d said he’d buy dinner on Sunday, since that was how he and Ned tended to handle shared meals, by taking turns buying, and oh yikes, he’d offered that to Wade before he’d realized he was talking to a stranger.

He acted like he’d forgotten his wallet, to scuttle out of the tiny restaurant and away from the annoyed looks of the bored employee at the counter, and hurried back to his apartment, chewing his bottom lip and trying to script out how this conversation could possibly go.

Would Wade remember Peter had offered another shared meal, and even if he’d remembered that detail, would he actually expect it?

No… right? But, maybe he ought to take the opportunity, and…

Ugh. 

He knocked on Wade’s front door and waited.

“Whozzit?”

Peter looked up towards the peephole, since Wade hadn’t opened the door.

“Hey, Wade, it’s me, Peter. From next door.”

“Hey, pal, what you sayin’ tonight?”

Peter scrunched his face a bit, perplexed that Wade still hadn’t opened the door, and second-guessed asking him now, since it seemed a pretty standoffish statement to leave them talking through the door like this. Plus it would be more difficult to read Wade’s reaction without seeing his face.

“Umm, I was just wondering if, y’know, I could pay you back for dinner the other night.”

“Nah, all good, my treat.”

“Well, I meant, more… would you want to go get dinner again and let me pay this time?”

There was a long pause, and Peter tried not to fidget too obviously, waiting for a reply.

“I, uh, can’t. I don’t really leave the apartment. Like that.”

“Oh.” Peter frowned at the door, trying to decide if this was a weird brush-off.

“We could, umm, we could just order in again. Your place or mine. If that worked?”

It almost sounded like Wade was muttering, and then, “Well, I don’t actually let anyone in here. Ever. And I don’t leave, so. Yeah. So thanks for the thought, it’s really nice, kid, but don’t worry about it.”

Peter nodded hurriedly, and shifted back toward his own front door. Okay, so Wade wasn’t interested, that was fine.

Except.

He hadn’t said no, not exactly, and if he just had lots of phobias keeping him locked away, and not an aversion to Peter specifically, he might be lonely. And hell, they had to live next door to each other, hearing each other constantly; if there were ever a time to make the extra effort for a friendship, it’d be here and now, right?

“Sure, okay. That’s totally fine! But I was gonna go pick up some Thai food anyway, so, want me to pick you up some too? Scintillating dinner conversation through the walls would be optional but available.” Peter half-turned from the door to privately wince to himself at how awkward he felt.

“Oh. Well, yeah, that’d be great! Get me some red curry and pad thai. Extra bean sprouts. And then we can talk about what your favorite cover song is, and why it’s obviously Hurt by Johnny Cash.”

Peter grinned and hurried off, doubling back awkwardly to answer verbally in case Wade hadn’t actually been looking through the door viewer. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Put on a bow tie and light a candle or something, gotta dress this up somehow! And cue up Careless Whisper by Seether, ‘cause that’s gotta be in the running, too.”  
  


***  
  


Two week later or so, Peter scrambled up the stairs, ricocheting around corners and narrowly catching himself each time. Even with his extra strength and speed, he was huffing from the prolonged exertion, but he was running out of time. Faster, faster, faster... He fumbled with the door and flung it open, darting inside to hop over his loveseat and collapse on it, finally. He scrubbed his hand down his face, and then knocked on the wall as he pulled his laptop out to boot up. 

"I'm here, Wade, sorry, sorry, got caught up at lab." 

He smiled as Wade yelled about dishonor on his cows, and relaxed back on the narrow couch finally. He'd been frantically busy all day, but they'd planned a tv binge night for tonight, and he'd been looking forward to it all week. He had to be a bit creative in his explanations of his time, when they’d been yelling back and forth for scheduling, but technically, patrolling was sort of just another job but, y'know, an unpaid, technically unsanctioned, and very dangerous extra job.

Peter kicked off his shoes and sighed as Wade kept yelling about his tardiness as he waited for his outdated laptop to finish waking up. "Alright, alright, I'll get off your lawn, grandpa. Gimme the code.”

Wade rattled off the meeting code through the wall, so they could sync up their Stark TV screens and watch shows together, and then continued, "Also, grandpa, no no. You know I'd never want to safe-word anything you wanna try, BUT I'm a daddy, not a grandpa.”

Peter smirked, and then groaned as he saw Wade had almost immediately paused the shared screen from his side. "Ugh, punishing me already? C'mon, Wade, what's the hold up?”

He listened closer and realized he heard movement in the hallway, and a bump at his door, before another door in the hallway closed and Wade was back talking to him. "Listen, kitten, you'll take whatever I give you. Now go check your front door, I'd planned the food to be more of an intermission, but then you were late and made me wait, prima donna, so the food’s already here."

Peter smiled at the pizza box at his front door, surprised at the kind gesture. He and Wade had

been talking through the walls here and there for awhile now, and they had ordered meals together sometimes too, always eaten separately, just like this had all started. The movie nights were a more recent thing, and still a bit rare, but whatever they were doing here was really nice. Lowkey and relaxed, and it was wonderful to have SOMETHING in his life that wasn’t stressful or required. They hadn't even exchanged phone numbers yet, though tonight's late schedule was driving home the necessity of that, but Wade had decided to surprise him with food anyway. It was just... really nice. 

And it was nice, three days later, to come home to a travel mug of hot chocolate with a post-it on it in the shape of a unicorn, signed _Wade,_ on the coldest and rainiest day of the month so far. 

In response, Peter left his number on a goofy outdated college ad he’d pulled off the community board in the student center, ‘cause he figured Wade might laugh at the 'rules for forming groups' list on it, including the direction for religious groups to coordinate for separate locations for 'safe sects.’ He tried so hard to seem casual and cool in his suggestion that their “Neighborhood (Binge-)Watch” exchange contact numbers and maybe elect officers, and he’d shoved the paper under Wade’s door and bolted. During the wait for a response, his over-analysis was pretty sure it veered into clingy or embarrassing, but when Wade texted to share his own number, demanding to be elected Snack Night Stocker, because of how that sounds out loud, Peter figured he wasn't screwing this up too badly.  
  


***  
  


A few days after that, Peter hesitated at the door, arms full of groceries, and juggled bags uncomfortably before gently setting a watermelon down at Wade’s door, then carefully knocking.

He could hear quiet motion behind the door, and noticed the shadow, but the door stayed closed. He hesitated another moment, wishing Wade would open the door, wishing they could see each other face to face finally, but trying to be understanding. He could be patient, even though it was tough to be so close yet so out of reach day after day. He waved at the peephole, in case Wade was watching, and ducked into his apartment finally. 

A few moments later he heard Wade's door open and close again right away, and he bounded into the dining area, where it was easiest to talk through the walls, smiling as he heard Wade’s voice as expected. 

"Okay, Petey, tell me, what's a watermelon mean, ‘cause I know what peaches and eggplants mean, but this is a new one. I mean, I still say the water droplets emoji back, but just tell me what I'm agreeing to here?"

“What?? It's just a watermelon... it doesn't mean anything..." 

"Aside from juicy, gotta get it some booty shorts that say that.”

"Sure, if we can decorate pumpkins, we can dress watermelons. But I got it ‘cause these looked great, and they had a buy-one-get-one sale, and I wouldn't go through two watermelons, and I thought you'd like it, and I'm rambling, I just thought--hey, watermelons!" 

"Yeah." 

Peter adjusted his watermelon on the counter and considered it. It had seemed an innocuous enough gift at the time, but he wasn't the best gift giver, and didn't claim to be.  
"Umm, I'm sorry if it's weird, I just thought, these are the good types, so--”

"Nah, it's great, it was just unexpected. But… what makes this a good type? Are these blue blood melons? College educated melons?”

"Oh, they're, you know, the girl type, so they're supposed to be sweeter, or whatever." 

"GIRL type? What?? What the hell kind of needlessly gendered nonsense…” 

Peter laughed, delighted at the absurd conversations they so easily found their way into, and how eagerly Wade would leap into his amusing reactions and overreactions.

"I have no idea where the gender part of it came about, but supposedly, they say the taller, narrower melons are more watery, and the shorter, rounder ones are supposed to be sweeter.”

"I don't think this is what they mean by food porn, but alright, describe your melons to me, tell me how sweet they are, c'mon, get me watery.”

"Wade!”

“Yes, say my name, keep going!”

"Will you just--wow--just eat the watermelon, alright, you're so over-the-top." 

“Well, honeydew, this is so forward and inappropriate, but absolutely I'll eat your melons, of course." 

Peter blushed and sighed, and hoped for the millionth time that their neighbors above or below them weren't hearing this. 

The next afternoon, Peter wasn't sure whether to laugh or blush profusely when he found an actual eggplant sitting innocently outside his door when he got home, so just to be safe, he did both, while darting inside as quickly as possible.  
  


***  
  
 ****

So things were going pretty great, until Ned came over a few weeks later.

It wasn't Ned's fault. Peter was being his nervous secret-keeping self, which is to say, he was dying to spill his guts, and his nonexistent poker-face would've doomed him anyway the second they saw each other in person, because this was _Ned,_ his best friend, but they hadn't seen each other in awhile, with only occasional meme texts tiding them over. 

So when Ned barged in with his emergency copy of the key, cause, c'mon, he might not actually be the guy in the chair, but if Spidey had a guy in the chair, it absolutely would be Ned. Wade had heard the door and immediately assumed it was Peter home early, and started chattering through the wall… It was just bad luck he picked up their last conversation, a particularly ridiculous argument they'd texted about during the day involving a ranking of the sexiest mythical or extinct creatures, begun casually weeks ago when they'd watched Jurassic Park together. 

And Ned might be many things, but slow to react was not one of them, and defensive of his friends he definitely always was. So, reconstructing events later, Peter was fairly certain that when Wade launched into some absurd and innuendo-laced description of a Sphinx or Bigfoot or Who-knows-what, Ned had assumed he was overhearing a rudely loud phone call or something, and had banged on the wall and verbally jumped all over him, yelling about being considerate to neighbors, and “how inappropriate that all was, dude, and you can't just yell that sort of nonsense when anyone can hear,” and who knows what else he’d said. 

Wade was a little more withdrawn after that, reticent in their texts and saying he was too busy for any tv shows that night or the next. The deafening silence from Ned after Peter’s attempted explanation of his new neighborly friend had been great fun, too, and Peter was halfway to hoping for a new supervillain to show up and give him something more pleasant to focus on, cause, _ouch, awkward_.   
  


***  
  


A few tense days later, phone wedged between his shoulder and face, Peter shifted the heavy boxes of printer paper in his hands and stepped into the elevator at The Daily Bugle, his very depressing job. He was “just a photographer, if that,” J. Jonah Jameson would and had said, in his regular diatribes, but he didn’t mind helping out around the office the times he stopped by with pics to sell or meetings to join. The regular office workers had to deal with Jameson on the daily; the least Peter could do was easily haul around some unwieldy office supplies for them. Plus Betty, the receptionist, showed her appreciation in warning Peter away on days when Jameson was especially on the warpath, so, something like ‘all the days ending in -y.’

Wade was a bit less chatty through the walls, since the whole Ned thing, and Ned was a little more judgy through their texts, and overall, Peter was ready for things to go back to normal. Or, you know, his recent version of normal, at least. But thankfully Ned had called him and they’d been joking like usual.

“Listen, Ned, it’s not… yeah. Sure, I guess. I’m not on _her side_ , I’m just trying to say… yep, definitely, it sounds like pure torture, it’s probably against Geneva Conventions for your coworker to throw out your moldy old leftovers from the shared fridge. Well!--alright.” He hefted the boxes a bit higher in wordless question to Betty, as he entered the reception area on the Daily Bugle’s cubicle farm floor, and nodded, following the direction she’d pointed to the larger of the two copy rooms. 

“Wait, I don’t understand ‘normal boundaries’ because of what now? That’s not-- I told you, my neighbor and I are friends, he was just joking around! It’s not harassment if… Ugh I can’t talk to you about something nuanced when you’re ranting like this. Yeah, nuanced. Well, because we’re grownups, unlike you and your fellow computer nerds, squabbling over-- Okay, alright, well, shouldn’t my neighbor’s adult language automatically classify it as a mature, adult conversation?” Peter laughed and arranged the boxes along the wall. “Sure, fine, I’m in denial. But if I say I need an adult, just remember that I’m definitely talking about Wade, and not you.” Peter grinned at his phone and replied to Ned saying goodbye and confirming their next lunch together a week away.

Hesitating for just a moment, he then dialed Wade, walking to the break room to get coffee for himself and Betty.

“Oof, if you actually worked at a sex hotline, you would be fired,” Peter said, after Wade’s truly appalling opening line. 

“Technically, no, I don’t have personal exp--- Well, ‘technically’ because I have accidentally called one. Yes! On accident! You know, accidents, like you and everything about you! Ha, yes, well, I might qualify as an expert in accidents, you wouldn’t know. I could keep a secret like that! Who knows the deep dark secrets we could both be keeping, only ever talking through walls and phones like this.” 

He swallowed hard at how close to home that comment actually was, relieved that Wade ignored the potential seriousness of it to segue into a heated discussion of the deep dark secrets he was convinced their landlord had, and the possible literal skeletons lurking throughout the basement storage area. It wasn’t the first time Wade had expressed joking suspicion about the landlord and his possible habits; it had come up initially when he’d politely declined Peter’s suggestion, through the walls, that they go do laundry together, in the shared laundry space on the first floor. Peter was mostly resigned, by now, to never seeing Wade in-person. He still forgot, regularly, that Wade apparently never left the apartment, and he definitely still didn’t understand it, especially because Wade never really explained anything, just said no, and no, and no. But he said yes often enough, too, to shared take out dinners in their respective apartments, and to phone calls and texts, and to watch-parties of new shows and classic movies. He’d even given Peter his wifi password, since he paid for a better tier of service, and it made their tv nights easier, so surely, that must mean something? Or, at least, had meant something, until Wade had pulled back a bit in the last few days. But he had answered this phone call, after all, and that was encouraging. 

He smiled and lightly responded as Wade kept happily complaining about the undoubtedly seedy background of the landlord and any of their neighbors. “Hmm, well, you’re right about that. Anyone willing to live in our tragic building is clearly up to no good, and you’re perfect evidence for that.” He returned Betty’s half hug as she hurried into the room and gratefully took the coffee he’d handed to her, over-sugared just the way she liked, in her favorite mug. 

“Yes, I solemnly swear you’re up to no good always, I wouldn’t dare say anything else about you, but I’m going to be the Boy Who Died if I don’t actually get to work now that I’m here, and-- Oh, please, like being called that is an insult, they all would’ve died a million times without Hermione, and you know it, so you’ll need to find something else to call me if--” Peter blushed and looked away from Betty, hoping she hadn’t overheard Wade’s enthusiastic and inappropriate nickname suggestions, and cleared his throat loudly. “Right! Well! Talk to you at home tonight then!” He hurriedly hung up and tucked his phone in his pocket, and then nearly squeaked as she pinched him. 

“Oh my God, you moved in with someone?! I cannot believe you, you didn’t even tell me you were seeing anyone! Peter Parker!”

Jameson overheard his name, from his ill-timed prowl down the hallway, and immediately yelled for Peter to come to the his office and show him the current round of “barely fit to print trash of that ne’er-do-well, Spider-Man” and Peter rushed to follow him, both he and Betty mouthing ‘ne’er-do-well’ at each other as he went and snickering quietly.

But he paid even less attention than usual to Jameson’s haranguing, considering over and over again the fact that Betty had assumed from context that he and Wade were living together. What was even more insane was how much it felt like that, at times, as ridiculous as that was. But then again, ignoring the fact that Peter had never actually seen Wade, they were awfully domestic already. If Peter were legally blind, it wouldn’t be all that different, really. Of course, if Peter were dating online and being catfished, that wouldn’t be all that different from this situation either, which was an unpleasant thought.

He spent the rest of the very loud meeting nodding absently to everything Jameson said, and wondering if he’d ever actually see Wade, or Wade’s apartment. He might’ve also wasted some of the time pondering if he’d be able to echolocate like a bat with his enhanced Spidey senses, if he really were blind, and pondering whether Daredevil were truly blind, like Mr. Stark’s files suggested, since they hadn’t met yet. He wondered if Deadpool had met Daredevil, and what he’d thought of him. Peter had cried laughing the day Deadpool had spent all their patrol time imitating the different Avengers. He'd also cleared his throat and tried to think professional thoughts as intensely as he could to ignore how particularly distracting he’d found Deadpool’s slinky impression of Black Widow’s fighting style and Deadpool’s intense dom Captain America voice.

But mostly, he thought about Wade, so, par for the course, lately.  
  


***  
  


Another week had crawled by, and Peter settled on the roof's ledge slowly, the bag of tacos balanced next to him. He was on patrol waiting for Deadpool to turn up. He'd turned down most, if not all, of Deadpool's attempts at friendship outside of patrol before this, out of an overabundance of caution (and an unwillingness to deal with even more all-caps emails from Mr. Stark). But he had accepted a burrito from Deadpool once (and NO, that’s not a euphemism), and even that had only been by reflex rather than intentional decision, when Deadpool chucked food at him and he’d caught it. Most of their shared food came from grateful citizens, and they’d eaten plenty of churros and ice cream sandwiches from happy food cart owners and relieved bodega workers.

Otherwise he usually had tried to avoid being overly friendly or receptive to Deadpool's endless attempts at a connection outside of working together, and he’d turned down any after-patrol meal suggestions, even if he occasionally lingered after a last fight to finish joking around with Deadpool. Peter probably should've avoided even their minimal professional affiliation, given how bleak and dire the Avengers’ discussions were about Deadpool, but the truth was, Deadpool had earned his spot next to Peter several times over, and it was bad manners to keep pretending otherwise.

Like it or not, (and he definitely hadn’t liked the realization), he was beginning to feel petulant and mean about ignoring Deadpool’s attempts at friendship beyond patrolling. They were never gonna be best friends, no matter how hard Deadpool tried, but if the kerfluffle of Ned yelling at Wade --and Wade becoming noticeably cooler and a little less available since then-- had taught Peter anything, it was to appreciate friendship when it was offered, and to not waste time. Besides, he was beginning to feel a bit self-deluded to ignore how much he laughed with Deadpool, and how often he thought of things to tell him in between their patrol times. It was purely self-defense that he had steered conversations away from any suggestion of exchanging numbers. He spent enough time texting and calling Wade, and he didn’t want to see how often he and Deadpool might chat if they had each other’s contact info.

So after how many snacks Deadpool had shared and mentioned, he’d decided bringing food would be a good first step. He'd looked up Rosalita's, and ordered the interesting off-menu tacos Wade had introduced him to, since surely fancy tacos would go a long way as an apology meal for Deadpool of all people, who despite convincing imitations of a human garbage disposal, waxed poetic about food all the time, and Mexican food most of all. At least as poetic as Deadpool could be, which, granted, mostly involved appreciation expressed in sexual terms, but it was still pretty artistically compelling.

Rosalita's hadn't been too hard to find, and the girl had at the counter been amused by his secret menu order to recreate the quirky culinary delight Wade had introduced him to. He wasn’t sure if her little knowing smiles were flirting or something else, but she hadn’t said another word to him, beyond wishing him a good night as she piled the bags into his arms. 

And now he waited for Deadpool to show up at the rooftop they’d rested at a few times, near the center of their preferred patrol area.

Deadpool pulled himself up onto the roof from the fire escape, hefting his weight the rest of the way, smile visible through the mask. Peter found himself grinning back, under his own mask, and jostled the bag of food between them playfully as Deadpool sat down. 

"Hey, man, I got us some food. It's not chimichangas, I know you've mentioned that a lot, but these are magically delicious tacos, so, hopefully you like them."

Deadpool had peered into the bag, and then stared at Peter, so Peter tried to fill the awkward silence. "Just, uh, wanted to say thanks for helping out lately, it's been fun working together.”

Deadpool had unwrapped one taco and hesitated. "Aren't you gonna eat, too? Not that

this is an appetizing sight," gesturing at his scarred chin where he'd pulled up his mask.

"Oh, sure, yeah." Peter grabbed a taco and hurriedly swivelled away to give him some privacy. 

He felt bad about how shell-shocked Deadpool had looked at first, for a simple bag of tacos, which felt like such a bare minimum attempt at reciprocating friendship. It made him feel all the better now to have gone to the trouble of getting the best tacos he’d ever tried, to at least try to make this special.

They’d eaten in silence a few minutes, and then Deadpool gleefully said, “By the way, how’d ya stumble on these, Spidey?! These are Deadpool specials, fantastic!”

“Oh, yeah, they really are great, huh? Yeah, they’re secret-menu from this hole-in-the-wall place my next door neighbor turned me on to, uhh, Rosalita’s, have you heard of it? I don’t know if they have a specials name for them, not yet anyway, but maybe if you went and asked very very nicel---”

Peter trailed off as Deadpool abruptly stood up. He’d dropped the rest of his last taco, and the awkward moment stretched as they stared at each other, Deadpool tensed and frozen, and Peter confused and worried.

“Hey, is everything okay, or do--”

“Yep, sure thing, Spidey, greattacosthanksalot, you’re the best, just remembered I forgot to uhhhhhhhhhhhh leave by now, so, umm, alright, bye.”

Peter stared blankly at the spot where Deadpool had literally jumped off the roof, and leaned over the edge, shocked, to see him hobbling away, injured, on the sidewalk several stories below. 

Deadpool was always baffling, but what in the hell had that been about?! The tacos had already been eaten, at least, and the bag was empty except for trash, so Peter crumpled up the wrapper he was still holding and got up, mystified. 

Okay, so, he could miraculously torpedo both burgeoning new friendships in his life without even trying. Maybe that was an untested new superpower of his. Wade had been distant and skittish after whatever Ned had said, and had once again refused to open the door when Peter tried to apologize face to face, not that he’d really expected any different, and now Deadpool had ditched their patrol time after what had seemed like a successful meal attempt, and Peter was deeply perplexed.  
  


***  
  


Sulking on a neighboring rooftop the next week and listening to sad indie music hadn't originally been on the agenda for the day, but Peter was tired and frustrated. His study group had been cancelled, so he'd gone on patrol early rather than head home, since home was complicated, lately. 

He liked Wade, so much, but Wade was, in some ways, as off-limits as Deadpool, with how isolated and distanced he kept himself. He must have some intense phobias keeping him locked away like a princess in a tower, but unlike the fairytales, it wasn’t any sort of common knowledge, where everyone seems pretty well-informed on curses and cures; was there, like, a directory of princesses and dragons for aspiring knights in these stories, so everyone would know where to go and who to rescue? That was the sort of pointless question he’d have liked to jokingly argue with Wade about, if things weren’t so weird between them now. It almost seemed like things had improved after the whole Ned thing, only to get worse again, seemingly for no reason. And Deadpool hadn’t been around or as talkative recently either, after the whole taco thing.

So Peter was very much bewildered and unsure, wishing he knew what was going on. He’d love to ‘turn off the dark’,’whatever that meant, but Deadpool said it often enough as some sort of joke, and it did at least seem to fit the theme of how baffled and alone he was feeling lately.

Anyway. Peter just wanted Wade to talk to him, to tell him why they could never be face to face, why there was always, LITERALLY, a wall between them. Peter was willing to work with almost anything, really. He LIKED Wade, and he could be accommodating. But Wade ducked any conversations like that, and kept Peter out of any discussion of the apartment limits, let alone the apartment itself, and recently, he’d been creating more and more distance between them. It left Peter worried and confused, not just about whether Wade was okay, or if Peter could help, but also about what Wade wanted from him. 

He had been so happy and carefree talking to Wade, it felt like the walls weren’t even there, but every time the conversation ended, and sometimes even before it started, lately, he found himself upset and hollowed out from the mixed signals. Sometimes he felt he wasn’t being fair, like he was asking for more than Wade wanted to give him, and pressuring Wade to change by asking for too much. But then again, shouldn't Wade just use his words? If only Wade could be as incisive in a meaningful relationship conversation as he was talking about anything else. And there was the dilemma: Peter liked everything else Wade had to say too much to push too hard on the things Wade wouldn't talk about. He’d rather have some of Wade than none of him, and he’d just have to make peace with how imbalanced it all felt sometimes.

But anyway. 

He’d sulked through a boring patrol, with no sign of Deadpool either, until it was time he’d ordinarily head home from studying. He’d usually be rushing home to talk to Wade right now, and he’d come most of the way home, but found himself unwilling to cross the street now. He could see straight into his own window from here, but he found himself contemplating the curtains on Wade’s window instead, and wishing, guiltily, that he could see in.

But as always, there was something in the way.

A curtain, a kitchen wall. A mask. 

His own mask had eventually killed his and MJ’s relationship, trying to work around his secretive second life, but this time it was the hiding Wade was doing that was damaging their chance at something real. It was funny, in some ways--lately, Deadpool had become someone important to Peter too, but the masks there were welcome interruptions. Peter didn't want to want Deadpool, he was an only very recently domesticated monster, if one listened to Iron Man's rants, but regardless, Deadpool was an absolutely risky bet to take, especially since he didn't seem to have a sincere bone in his body (and it was testament to how often they’d hung out recently on patrol that Peter could practically hear the gleeful innuendo about sincere boners that Deadpool would’ve made in response to that comment).

It didn't matter that Deadpool flirted and acted interested sometimes. He was bad news, and dangerous, and apparently he’d spontaneously plummet off buildings after a perfectly nice meal, so he definitely was not someone to rely on.

It was just frustrating, though, to feel that pull with someone else and resist it, when the person he wished would reciprocate had left them stalled out, between friends and something more.

He could wait for Wade, if he just knew what they were waiting for. Pain with a reason, an end date, is a completely different animal than unexplained and endless pain, though it sure felt like life was predisposed to the latter.

He hated moping like this. If he'd just cross that 15 feet or so, he could be laughing with Wade--but in some ways, it felt like he’d always be this far away, never able to bridge the gap between them, never even able to name it, let alone understand it.

He wished it were simpler.

If only he could trust Deadpool with his real life, and trust him to show up for them, then he’d be tempted to try for something there, maybe, and finally accept that Wade didn't seem to want to move beyond friends with him.

Or, instead, if he could trust that he and Wade were actually heading somewhere, and Peter wasn't all alone in this feeling of something building between them, then he could throw himself into that and ignore the sparks with Deadpool that had none of the comforting warmth of Wade.

Deadpool was all style and no substance, while Wade was the opposite, or so it too often felt.

Could it be enough to like someone but never have a deep relationship, only a passionate connection, or could it be enough to only ever be mentally stimulated with a side of butterflies, and never have anything beyond that? How frustrating, to be long-distance from next door, like this.

Peter resented feeling like a young-adult heroine in a silly love triangle. It had never happened before; Peter usually fell too hard to even notice any other possibilities when he was deep in a crush. He’d never noticed Deadpool in that way, barely sensed the attraction, while he had been with MJ, but now he definitely couldn't stop noticing it--much as he might want to, much as he might rather be so wrapped up in Wade to not notice. He hated feeling like this, it felt unfaithful somehow. Or ungrateful, rather.

He was distracted from his brooding by quick movement catching his eye down the alley, and what looked like an easy jump to pull down the escape to his building.

It was-- speak of the devil, it was Deadpool!

Peter felt baffled for an instant, then icy tendrils of dread coiled around his insides; Deadpool had come to Peter's building and was even now climbing to his window. Peter pulled further back to the shadows to stay hidden, sick with worry. It wasn't that he'd never considered sharing his name or face with Deadpool, it was just that he’d never ever done it because it was a spectacularly bad idea.

He'd had plenty of time to regret--well, most everything about his brief time dating Black Cat, but he had definitely regretted giving her so much personal information, his identity and address, when she ultimately turned out to be untrustworthy. It had been a hard-won lesson, but he intended to keep his identity safer since then, despite how he’d found himself wanting to be more real with Deadpool, to share aspects of his personal life. But it wasn't safe, it wasn't necessary, it was a bad idea, and just in case he’d had any second thoughts about that, Deadpool had showed up here! 

At Peter's apartment! 

Peter mentally debated how to handle this, because if Deadpool was still verifying Spider-Man's address, then confronting him as Spider-Man would prove the location pretty much immediately. But if he wasn't sure yet, and Peter showed up in civvies and bare-faced, then that might cast doubt OR might give Deadpool confirmation plus the sight of his face.

Alright, so… of the bad options available, staying in costume seemed the safest. Plus then if the confrontation got messy, he could at least fight without worrying about getting filmed maskless and being recognized by some bystander.

Good thing he'd decided, because by then Deadpool was at the level of his floor, and going in… going in Wade's window! Peter felt almost breathless with terror, this was his worst nightmare: seeing the people he cared about at risk from the dark side of his life. He was swinging across the street immediately, in a panic. Deadpool nosing around Peter's house was concerning,but ultimately he’d expected to be able to talk it out first, with any actual fight or immediate physical danger completely a secondary concern. But there was no good reason, no harmless reason, Deadpool would be in Wade’s apartment, sneaking in his window! Deadpool was still a mercenary killer, and as much as Peter had trusted that Deadpool had turned a corner, and killed less and only for the good guys, Peter didn't actually KNOW that.

As silently as possible, Peter slipped in through the heavy curtains, heart pounding. He'd never been in Wade's apartment before, and it was a mess; he’d be tempted to think there'd already been a violent, destructive confrontation, from the way the clutter was scattered everywhere, but he hadn't heard anything. He strained to listen, and heard one voice talking, but animatedly, not afraid or threatening. It was... well, actually, he'd never noticed before how much Wade's voice reminded him of Deadpool's joking tone. He crept closer, and peered around the corner to the kitchen. Deadpool was standing over something... a duffel bag maybe, or, oh God, maybe Wade!

He couldn't tell from this angle. He had the briefest moment to consider this might be a legitimate SHIELD bounty, but he already felt the truth in his bones, of what he’d do: in the absence of evidence, his loyalty was to Wade first, to keeping Wade safe, and they could sort everything else out after.

Just as he'd decided, Wade pulled a knife from nowhere and crowed, "Ha, got you, fucker!" and flicked the knife to the ground in front of him, out of Peter's sight, to the back half of the kitchen. Peter lunged forward as a guttural cry ripped from his throat, webs flinging everywhere, too late to stop the knife, but fast enough to secure one of Deadpool’s arms to his side. Deadpool ducked so quickly that he skillfully avoided the rest. He tucked into a roll, out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and Peter leapt to the ceiling to avoid being knocked over, then swung down heavily to try to tackle him. Deadpool had seemed shocked at first, but after the first flurry he sounded angry and confused.

“Spidey?! What the hell do you think you're doing?!”

Peter was flinging webs as quick as he could, but it was a cramped space and Deadpool was too adept with his blades for most of them to actually restrain him. And as furious as Peter felt about Wade being hurt, or even, God forbid, dead in the other room, he couldn't ignore the fact that Deadpool wasn't fighting to kill now. He didn’t even seem to be fighting to win, acting more like they were sparring. Peter finally got the chance to knock him down, rebounding off a corner to drive Deadpool onto his back, and Deadpool... let him. He’d let his hands flop to the sides as he fell, angling the blades away, and Peter landed heavily, crouched over him. He webbed down Deadpact's hands anyway, motionless as they already were, and slid the knives away, settling on top of Deadpool's thighs to hold him down, confused as to what was going on. Why had Deadpool fought back after an unexpected attack only to settle down and apparently just give up like this? 

They were both panting and staring at each other, and Peter was aggravated to feel their obvious attraction humming between them even now, at a moment like this, blood up, yes, but motivated by an entirely different feeling. 

He leaned back, and stood up, webbing more of Deadpool to the floor, and shook his head to clear it, hurrying to the kitchen to check on Wade. In the back corner of the kitchen, he found the thrown knife embedded in the linoleum of the floor, skewering a cockroach, and no sign of Wade. The duffel bag Deadpool had been standing over, which was actually a duffel bag after all, was filled with guns when Peter checked it. Which was… odd since Deadpool had been empty-handed when he'd climbed up, so this... bag stuffed with guns was... apparently Wade’s? So... maybe they knew each other, maybe Wade was a bounty middle-man or something? An arms dealer, maybe, some criminal contact? He swallowed hard at the thought. But even so, he wanted to hear it from Wade, and to see for himself that Wade wasn't dead or injured, and it was definitely concerning that he hadn't come out of the attached bedroom/bathroom while a knockdown fight had been happening in the other half of the tiny apartment. 

He stepped over Deadpool, avoiding his eyes, to walk into the bedroom. There was no one else here, but Wade said he hardly ever left the apartment, which matched what Peter had seen and noticed, the times that he was actually home too. He retraced his steps to stand over Deadpool, glaring down at him, and dreading hearing whatever Deadpool was gonna say.

Deadpool cleared his throat, shifting a bit finally, seeming uncomfortable beyond just being restrained to the floor. "So, uhh, not that this wasn't fun, but I do want to point out that we didn't establish a safe word first, which is, just, definitely not best practices, so..." 

When Peter didn't answer, he said, "But really, pal, what's going on? What's... what's wrong with... Did you... yeah, what's wrong, that's all I've got. Talk to me, Spidey." 

Peter crouched next to him, close together in the narrow hallway, closer than he wanted to be. He felt like he was on a cliff’s edge, waiting to fall, suspicious of what he'd see deep far down in the dark at the bottom. He could feel the pieces of information clicking into place, unwillingly, uncomfortably.

"Why are you here," Peter said, delivered in a flat, blank tone, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He couldn't even look at Deadpool as he asked.

"Like, in general, why are we all here, or specifically, why am I still alive after how many times I've died, cause y'know, Death, like, the hot physical personification of Death, is one of my exes, and I think that's existentially interesting…” Deadpool tapered off as Peter finally turned to look at him, still downcast.

"Can I have a hand free?" Peter slowly nodded and then huffed when Deadpool managed to cut a hand loose using a hidden blade, before Peter could free him. Deadpool shrugged. "Yeah, I coulda gotten out before, but don't I get credit for staying put? Alright, alright, hey...” He reached up and slowly pulled his mask up to his nose. “This is, uh, what I look like. Which is why I didn't want to meet you face to face, it felt safe through the walls, without you seeing, well, all of this. And I didn't know who you were at first, but, I understand if you're angry, ‘cause I've known for awhile now that my next door neighbor had a spandex kink just like me, and I didn't say anything all this time.”

Peter slumped back further on his heels against the wall. "Wade." 

"Yeah. Hi, honeydew." 

Peter covered his face with his hands. "You--and I--ugh, you're such an asshole, I've been all twisted up about this. And I was terrified for you just now, I thought you were here to kill Wade or something!" 

Deadpool's other hand pulled free of the webs (“Asshole," Peter muttered) and Deadpool scrabbled both hands next to Peter's knees, as though he wanted to touch but second-guessed the action. "What?! Oh Spidey, I thought you'd finally realized who I was and were just here to rough me up a bit!" 

"What?! You thought I'd beat you up for lying to me? I'd WANT to do that, maybe, but I wouldn't do that. Actually..." He hesitated long enough that Deadpool slid his hands closer, loosely framing Peter’s knees."Actually, I'd never have even dreamed of Wade and you being the same person, Deadpool and you, however you, um, think about that. But it's... almost a relief?”

Deadpool waited, putting his hands lightly around Peter’s knees encouragingly.

"I was so confused about why my funny flirty neighbor seemed to like me back and then suddenly cooled off, and never ever wanted to meet me in person. And feeling all guilty over why I was getting a crush on Deadpool, when all the while I was getting more involved, or, just, emotionally invested, with someone else. And now you're the same person! I can't believe I couldn't hear it before, your voice isn't that different with or without the mask!" 

Deadpool shrugged. "Right, well, I knew it was all gonna fall apart eventually, so I guess I just--thought I'd settle for as much as you'd give me, in the different ways I knew you. It was selfish, it was doomed from the get-go, and I knew that, but I just got greedy for all the time I could get with you, in here or out there. Anywhere.”

Peter groaned. "You're such an asshole." 

"Yes." 

"I'm really mad at you, I'm trying to stay mad at you, and for once in your life, you're being sincere and, I don't even know, romantic!" 

Deadpool weakly laughed, and patted his legs before moving his hands back together to fold on his own torso. 

"Well, you can't fault me for shooting my shot anyway. It was incredible while it lasted, but if I say no hard feelings, will you say it back? --I mean, there’s definitely something hard I’ve got right here I would’ve loved for you to feel, but...”  
Peter sputtered and Deadpool hurriedly continued, "Anyhow look, it's fine, I have another safe house I can stay in so you don't have to worry about me being around often. I'll--I can keep my distance. But maybe someday we can work together again?" 

Peter tilted his head. "What are you even talking about, why would you move away? Why can't we keep patrolling together? If you knew who I was most of the time we were talking anyway, for so long, then why are you changing your mind now?" 

Deadpool sat up abruptly, forcing Peter closer to the wall again, sputtering, "Not me! You!" 

"Me, what?!" 

Deadpool groaned and shook his hands out nervously before pulling his own mask all the way up and off, his eyes anxiously closed the whole time. He gestured tightly at his scarred face. “This is why you wouldn't want me around, even if I HADN'T lied to you, or, y’know, omitted things, important things. This is why you wouldn’t want to keep talking to me.”

When Peter didn't respond, he continued slowly, eyes still shut painfully tight, "’Cause when we were Wade and Peter, it could maybe happen, see, ‘cause it was unlikely as hell, but there was still a chance the hot young guy next door might like me enough to get past all this for a while at least, even if it was mostly a sex thing, right, maybe if the phone sex was good enough you might even go for it in-person. Or, like, before all that, the whole time I liked you as Deadpool liking Spider-Man, that was never gonna go anywhere, but I thought you might someday go for a quickie in a dark alley--I mean, stranger things have happened just in my continuity alone, so I wasn't giving up on that without a fight. Not that I would have fough--you know what I mean."

He finally cracked his eyes open, since Peter still hadn't said anything. "But see, SPIDER-MAN is never gonna go for fugly-Wade, and nice-guy-next-door-PETER is never gonna go for Deadpool, so I realized then it was more hopeless than I'd thought. See?”

"You're such an asshole." 

"We've established that, yes, but how does that apply right now? --Or is that finally a commentary on my looks, actually, cause that's harsh but accurate.”

Peter moved closer and waited for Deadpool to stop wincing away, and then slung a leg over to sit in Deadpool's lap.

Deadpool frowned at him, even as he slid his hands to Peter’s waist. "What is this, is this some sort of honey-pot murder thing, cause I don't get it, but I'm fully on-board. Kiss me or kill me, the thought of you doing anything to me is amazing."

Peter settled his hands on Deadpool's shoulders, _Wade's_ shoulders, and leaned their foreheads together. "No, you're an asshole inherently, always, this is one of those ‘in perpetuity’ things." He moved a hand over Wade's mouth as he started to quibble about _perpetuity._ " The point is, you shouldn't decide things for me. You took all my agency away here, making decisions about how I'd feel or react, and keeping information from me. But I already really liked Wade, and I had started to want Deadpool, and it's actually pretty convenient to find out they're one and the same person. Now, will you please shut up and kiss me, and then in a minute you're gonna tell me absolutely everything else you’ve been keeping from me, every scrap of information I deserve to know, if we're gonna actually give this a try." 

He pulled back enough to pull up his own mask. “Here, I’ll start: Hi, I’m Peter. Do you like me back, circle yes or no.”  
  


***

_**EPILOGUE** _

Wade buried a hand in Peter's hair and kissed him deeper. His hands kept moving, sliding up and down Peter’s sides, cinching in at his waist, until he tugged him over bodily to straddle Wade’s lap. Peter felt like he'd latched on too tight to Deadpool's huge biceps, hands clinging, almost dizzy with all of it. Wade's hands slipped around his back to pull him in closer, hands inside Peter’s shirt, and swirled his fingers in the dimples at his lower back as he did so, until Peter finally pulled back from the kiss, breathless. 

"We have to slow down, I need--I need to slow down." 

Wade kept nuzzling at his neck, distracting him, and he tipped his head back to the side to revel in the feeling a moment longer, before bracing one hand on Wade's chest to get some space. 

"Listen, I know you're probably fine with casual and no-strings, and that's okay, I get that, but that's just never been me. I just--I have enough regrets in my life already, and I don't want us going too fast for me, for us to be another regret.” 

He'd started talking with confidence, but he looked away by the end, settling back in Wade's lap, resting on his own braced feet next to Wade's knees, his hands loose now around Wade's truly incredible biceps. As the pause stretched, his fingers flexed, nervous. It would be disappointing to miss seeing these mouthwatering arms, in bed and anywhere else, if Wade didn’t want to slow down, but he also knew himself too well to change his mind. Wade shifted a bit too, tipping Peter’s chin back so they could see each other fully, finally. Meeting his eyes, Peter felt his resolve crumbling and solidifying at the same time, because he knew he wasn't going to be satisfied with lust alone, he needed love, the real thing, but if this was a deal-breaker for Wade, he was pretty sure he'd have some new regrets anyway. 

Wade smiled at him slow and soft. "Petey, I was following your spandex ass around for months thinking I'd never get a chance to really know you, and then obsessing over the voice next door, afraid to ever meet you in person, and I'd've lived with that, I would've. It's embarrassing how fast I fell for ya once I knew both of you were the same person. So we're all good, baby boy, you tell me when the time's right, ‘cause I can wait. I can't even believe you're right here kissing me anyway.”

Peter leaned in to kiss him again, smiling so wide their teeth clacked more than their lips connected. 

He shouldn't have worried, this was Wade, and for all his quirks, Wade was also the person he felt the most safe with, now, the man he trusted personally and professionally, his partner. He’d respected Spider-Man's rules; it made sense he would respect Peter's boundaries. It was all so mature and sweet--

Deadpool pulled back from the kiss, mouth already running again. "Besides, I don't know if you know this, but we live RIGHT NEXT DOOR to each other! I can duck out for as many cold showers as I need to, or, you know, I already took the problem in hand often enough just hearing your voice through the wa--”

Peter rolled his eyes and shut him up with a deeper kiss. Alright, so it was ridiculous to think of Wade as sweet like a Hallmark card, but it didn't matter. This was Wade, his ridiculous Wade, and he didn't want anything different.

As time passed, Wade ended up being an absolute gentleman waiting for Peter, albeit with significantly dirtier texts along the way than anything a gentleman would probably send. And when they finally went all the way, Peter had no regrets, just the great morning after, with pancakes leisurely eaten in Peter’s cleaner kitchen after a fantastic night’s sleep in Wade’s significantly fancier bed. 

Well, he'd had no regrets until they happened to catch a ride on the subway that same night, while in full superhero gear, ‘cause it was New York after all, and it was raining, and it had seemed like a good enough idea at the time. 

They’d stood together, shoulders bumping occasionally as the subway rattled along, close together but not overly so, since Peter was pretty adamantly against PDA, especially while they were in the suits. At one of the stops, after many seasoned New Yorkers had looked right past them, a group of frat guys got on their car.

“Holy shit, you’re fucking Spider-Man!” one of them had yelled, arms wide open and excited. 

Deadpool had leaned more into view, from Peter’s other side. “I mean, _I’m_ the one fucking Spider-Man, but yeah." 

[So Peter had one regret, maybe.]

Wade guffawed at the stunned faces, and leaned in to whisper in Peter's ear, "God, I'm hilarious, don't let me forget to tell Stark that joke, he's gonna love it as much as I love your sweet ass."

[Maybe Peter had a few regrets, actually.] 

But all the same, ignoring the sputtering reactions from the guys, who were now busy arguing over whether they were real or cosplayers, he turned and backed up further into Deadpool’s space, his feet now in between Deadpool’s. He felt Wade’s hesitation at the PDA, and knew it was more concern for Peter's sake rather than his own, about crossing any boundaries like that, and he couldn’t help it, he was happy and relaxed and in love, and he couldn’t muster up any worry at all about anyone else. He wiggled in closer, his back to Deadpool’s broad chest, and leaned happily back against his hot and embarrassing boyfriend as Wade reeled him in tighter and kept an arm slung around him. 

[Alright, fine, so he had no regrets.]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what your favorite part was, if you have a second.
> 
> And now for some vague-booking cause it's my author's note and I'll act up if I want to:  
> As always, thanks to my two best friends, who aren't directly involved in fanfic but have always been so supportive of my creative endeavors. 2020 was such a difficult year for so very many reasons, but the distance between us, literal and metaphorical, has been the hardest to deal with. Looking forward to a future where we're all back home safe again!


End file.
